


Ask me no questions (and I'll tell you no lies)

by Signe_chan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signe_chan/pseuds/Signe_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Quick instructions: read one question aloud to your partner, then both of you answer. Swap roles for the next question. Answering all 36 questions should take around one hour, but time isn't important…”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Enjolras said. He wasn’t giving anything away in his tone of voice. If he was angry, excited. Grantaire’s heart was racing. “You go first.” </p>
<p>He clicked okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ask me no questions (and I'll tell you no lies)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Katie for beta reading <3 
> 
> Also, I took this walk through modern Paris. All photos are mine. You'll have to imagine a little with the Corinthe as, you know, it's a coffee shop. Just play along with me XD

Grantaire knew it was his own bad decisions that had led him here, he just didn’t know what he could have done differently. His palms were sweating where they held his phone in his lap. Enjolras was staring at him, too intent. They were alone. 

He was never going to survive this. 

They were sat on the wall outside the Corinthe. Their friends were inside, probably laughing about this. About Grantaire and his unrequited love and how completely unattainable Enjolras was to him and how stupid he was to get into this entire situation to start with. Why couldn’t he just stop? 

“Come on, then,” Enjolras said. “What’s the first question?” 

Grantaire fumbled with his phone. For a second he was sure that the sweat on his fingers would stop him unlocking the screen and he’d have to wipe it. He’d be mortified. The entire thing would be a waste before it even began. 

Not that it wasn’t already. 

The screen opened, though, and he pulled up the browser. The damn site was still open. Still pink. Still seemed to presume he was some kind of desperate middle-aged woman or something. Or maybe he was just reading too much into it. He’d stumbled across the article in the NYT via Twitter. He’d thought it’d be funny to show the others. He hadn’t thought it would lead to this. 

Enjolras was staring at him with the kind of single-minded determination he used for political causes. It was the kind of look that he normally only gave Grantaire when they were fighting. 

He clicked here to begin. 

“Quick instructions: read one question aloud to your partner, then both of you answer. Swap roles for the next question. Answering all 36 questions should take around one hour, but time isn't important…”

“Fine,” Enjolras said. He wasn’t giving anything away in his tone of voice. If he was angry, excited. Grantaire’s heart was racing. “You go first.” 

He clicked okay. 

“If you could invite anyone in the world to dinner, who would it be?” 

“Anyone living in the world or does it mean in the larger sense, anyone who’s ever existed?” 

“God, Apollo, like I know. I’m just reading the damn question!” He held his phone out so Enjolras could see and, of course, the screen chose that second to shut down. He swore, started to fiddle with it, but stopped when Enjolras reached over and lay a hand on his. 

“I’m sorry. I...this is probably a really bad idea, right?” 

“This is undoubtable the worst idea you’ve ever had.” 

“Do you want to stop?” 

Did he want to stop? Yes. He could already see the million ways his heart was about to get torn to pieces. There was no way this would work. You couldn’t science love. He knew, or he would have scienced himself out of love with Enjolras years ago. 

But the stupid thing was that, at the bottom of the Pandora’s box of his brain, there was still hope. 

He’d brought this up as a thing to scoff at, not as any part of an agenda, but when Enjolras had pouncedon it, his little butterfly of hope had woken up and stretched its wings. Of course Enjolras had taken the opposite position to him, that love was a thing you could make. Of course Enjolras had argued with him, had agreed to prove it. It had sounded so calmly logical when Enjolras had said it. “If you’re right, you get to tell me you told me so. If I’m right, I’ll be in love with you and isn’t that what you’ve wanted for years?” 

There were a million flaws in it. Grantaire had looked down the questions. Answering them truthfully was going to tear him in half. Being able to say I told you so would mean nothing after that. And even if, at the end of the night, Enjolras did feel they were in love, how long would it last? There were so many ways he could be broken. 

But what if he was wrong? 

He couldn’t walk away. 

“No, I don’t want to stop. Come on, are you answering first?” 

“Sure,” Enjolras said, leaning back against le Forum das Halles. Grantaire could see Jehan watching them out of the window. He’d been so concerned when Grantaire had said yes. This was such a bad plan. “I guess, if it has to be someone alive, I’d choose Francois Hollande.” 

“A bit predictable, Apollo. You’d just want him as a captive audience so you could bend his ear for the duration of the meal.” 

“Maybe,” Enjolras said with a little smile. The one that tended to stop Grantaire’s heart in its tracks. “Though isn’t my focus on political action an important thing you need to know about me?” 

“I knew it already.” 

“And you love me already.” 

“Yes,” Grantaire admitted, flushing. He declared it loudly and regularly when he was drunk, he wasn’t sure why it seemed to different to admit to it now. “Which begs the questions of why you’re even answering.” 

“To make it fair. You’re going to be honest, it’s only fair that I do the same. So, the current head of the country. And I’d no doubt talk about whatever pressing political issues I had at the time. The ‘migrant crisis’, for example.” He made air quotes around migrant crisis and Grantaire felt his heart swell. How was he so in love with this ridiculous human being?

“Fine. If I could have dinner with anyone alive today…” There was a temptation there to be sarcastic. To make up an answer. To be facetious. But he’d promised he was going to be honest. “I’d pick you.” 

“Seriously?” 

Grantaire was already regretting all of his life choices. 

“Yes. I…you know I’m in love with you. What would be the point of meeting a celebrity? I’d just make a fool of myself in front of them, no doubt. And, genuinely, there’s nobody else I’d rather spend my time with.” 

There was an odd silence then. Enjolras didn’t meet his eyes. Grantaire wondered if he’d gone too far. Enjolras knew, but there was a difference between knowing it as a theoretical and being confronted with it like this. Out in the open, literally. There were a tourists sat around them. Their friends were watching. 

He wanted to take it back. 

“Thank you for being honest with me,” Enjolras said, reaching out to lay a hand on Grantaire’s arm. “Let’s...what’s the next question?” 

Grantaire opened his phone again. 

“Would you like to be famous? In what way?” 

“You should answer first, this time.” Enjolras’s hand was still on his arm and it was deeply distracting. 

“Why?” 

“We can trade. Make it fair.” 

“I don’t…” 

“You want to go second?” 

“Please,” Grantaire said. He was blushing, stupid traitorous cheeks. He could probably manage honesty if he was following Enjolras’s lead but not if he had to go first. 

“Okay.” Enjolras removed his hand. Grantaire felt its loss keenly. “So, I think we both know that I’m more likely to be infamous than famous.” 

“Please, Mr Trainee Lawyer. You’ll probably end up working for the UN in human rights or something.” 

“Not likely with my arrest record. I’m only studying this to find out the lay of the land, anyway. Know thine enemy and all that. When I’m done I’m going to work for a non-profit or something.” 

“So a famous human rights activist?” 

“Yes. I’d like that. To be known for helping others. What about you? An artist?” 

“God no, I don’t want to be famous.” 

“You don’t?” Enjolras seemed surprised by this. Grantaire wondered when in his life he’d ever given the impression he was a person who sought fame. 

“All those people being involved in me. Invested in me. Fame isn’t something that works alone, you know. Any famous person is standing on a tower of other people who depend on them. And fame cuts both ways. Can you imagine what the public would think of me, with my scars?” 

“If they can’t cope with that, they don’t deserve you.” 

“Well, for whatever reason, they’re not getting me. If you’re famous that means press and the press are evil.” 

“Well, I can agree with that at least.” 

Enjolras smiled. It was a soft, genuine smile. Not one that Grantaire was used to having directed at him. Maybe he should try being honest more often. Enjolras still wasn’t meeting his eyes though. He was looking up at the Corinthe. To the second floor. Grantaire followed his line of sight to find that Courfeyrac and Marius had joined Jehan in the window, staring down on them.

“Come on,” Enjolras said, standing up. “Let’s get away from them. We can do another question while we walk.” 

“Good idea,” Grantaire said, standing with him. Somewhere a little less exposed would be good. “There’s a fountain near here, it should be okay. You want to read the next question and I’ll be guide?” 

“I wouldn’t want to use your phone without permission.” 

“And I’m giving you permission, here,” Grantaire said, unlocking it and holding it out. He was going to be telling Enjolras a lot more than he’d find on a phone tonight if they followed this through, anyway. He started down the Rue Rambuteau and Enjolras fell in step next to him. He read the question. 

“Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why? Is...is that a thing people do?” 

“I’m guessing your answer’s no, then.” Grantaire turned into the Rue St Denis. 

“No. I...I wouldn’t do that. Do you?” 

Be brave. Tell the truth. On the impossible chance that this was going to work, he had to tell the truth. “Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“I...it’s fear, I guess. I mean, telephone calls are unpredictable, right?” 

“I guess,” Enjolras said with a shrug.

“And they’re harder than normal conversation. I mean, right now I can look over to you and from your body language I’ll know a bit about how you’re feeling and what you’re thinking. Phone calls aren’t like that. Anyone could pick up the phone and you can’t see them so you don’t know if they’re smiling, happy to talk to you, or angry or what.” 

“Can’t you tell from their tone of voice?” 

“A little. But it’s not the same.” 

“But you’re so…” Enjolras waved his hand in front of him. 

“Vague?” 

“Personable. You never seem to have any trouble in person.” 

“In person’s easier. It’s more...I feel like I’m in control of it…” 

“I guess,” Enjolras said. Grantaire dared to glance over but he wasn’t looking. His expression was neutral, his face forward. So much for all of Grantaire’s theories. This was much scarier than a phone call. 

Though trying to do this over the phone…

“Is this where we’re going?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire looked around and nodded. They road opened out to the right to the square with the Fontaine des Innocents. It was set down from the road level, making a little step that was perfect for sitting on, and it was big. Even though there was a group sat drinking at one side, at the other side they’d be away from them. There was still lots of foot traffic, but it wasn’t that bad. 

“Come on,” he said, setting off for the far side of the fountain. Enjolras trailed behind, settling in next to him when they got there. Facing the fountain, Grantaire could almost forget the other people around them. 

“Here,” Enjolras said, holding out the phone. “It locked again. You’d better keep it.” 

“Sure.” Grantaire thumbed in his pattern. Clicked for the next question. “What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?” 

“You sure you don’t want to go first?” 

“Positive.” 

“Okay, then. A perfect day.” Enjolras turned a little, pointing his knees a little more towards Grantaire. Grantaire mirrored the gesture. It was going to be harder to talk now that he could see more of Enjolras’s expression, but it was worth it to be able to look at that face. 

“I’d get up early, feeling rested. Have some time to leave before I left the house. My perfect day isn’t going to be a school day, so it doesn’t involve any pretending to care about the rights of corporations to stuck up assholes. And I’ve done all my other work too, so I’m free to focus on personal projects. Since it’s my perfect day I guess I’m in the middle of a good book, so I read for a while, until Combeferre wakes up. Then we meet Courfeyrac for a late breakfast to discuss our latest campaign. 

“Then I would get some things done. Maybe liaise with other groups of lobbyists or write a stirring political speech, all of which would be amazing, as this is my perfect day. I’d have a light lunch and maybe a walk through town. I could meet Bahorel and help him get some graffiti up, we haven’t been able to do so much lately with all the tourists over Easter. 

“Then I’d meet everyone at the Mousain. We’d eat dinner and drink and plan and talk into the evening.” 

“Surprisingly sedate for you. I’d expected overthrow the government and destroy the patriarchy.” 

Enjolras gave a surprised little laugh. “I think it might take more than a perfect day to accomplish that. Maybe a perfect week.” 

“Maybe,” Grantaire agreed, inordinately proud of himself for having made Enjolras laugh. “So...let’s think. I guess I’d get a lie in. You know I work in a coffee shop, right? A morning in bed is a luxury. No work for me, either, and all the pieces I have to do done. There’s a patisserie across the street from me so I’d roll over there for breakfast then go back to my room. 

“Since I’m not on a deadline, I’ll play some music. Maybe read or nap a little. Then I think I’d go for a walk. I’m always too busy to just wander around Paris. I’d start at my place and wind my way in. Find a little cafe and have a long lunch. Perhaps swing by Notre Dame to admire the architecture and watch the tourists.” 

“Why would you want to watch the tourists?” 

“I love the look of awe on their faces. Makes you look at the city around you again. Then I think I’ll come and join your perfect day at the Musain.” He didn’t mention that, in his actual perfect day, Enjolras would have been with him for every step. It seemed too much, and there were limits to honesty. 

“Sounds...lazy.” 

“Well,” Grantaire said, curling into himself a little. “We can’t all be productive all the time.” 

“No, I didn’t...I mean, it sounds nice. Like...nice to let yourself relax that much. I didn’t even think about that, I was just thinking about what I could achieve.” 

“Well, I guess that’s us, then. You’re productive, I’m lazy.” 

“You’re not.” The hand was on his arm again but Grantaire didn’t dare look at it. He wanted to curl right up and sink through the floor. Why had he thought this was a good idea? “See, this is why I think you’re better at people than me. I’m always messing things up. I didn’t mean you were lazy. I mean that your day sounded...peaceful. That’s a better word. Calm. Nice.” 

“You don’t have to…” 

“Grantaire, I know you work harder than most of us. I’m not calling you lazy. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Grantaire said, allowing himself to uncurl a little. The edge of panic crept back a little for now. He lifted his phone and opened it, wanting to move on from this. “When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?” 

Enjolras snorted. “I haven’t made anyone suffer that torture in a long time. Probably the last time I sang to someone was in a school choir.” 

“I’m sure you’re not that bad.” 

“I’m realistic about my weaknesses, R. I can’t sing.” It was enough to make Grantaire smile a little and Enjolras squeezed his arm when he did. “To myself, I do sing to myself. I mean, singing along to the radio and things. I couldn’t tell you the last time, though. How about you?” 

“Well, I sing to myself all the time. I do own a guitar, you know.” 

“Yes, I know.” He’d sung a few times at their gatherings, though he didn’t make a habit of it. He wouldn’t have done it at all but Bossuet had found out about the guitar and become convinced that it would be good for Grantaire to sing to them. “Do you write any of your own songs?” 

“Yes,” Grantarie admitted. His disloyal cheeks were red again. Almost all his songs were love songs. 

“You’ll have to sing one to me sometime.” 

“Maybe.” He was hardly going to commit to it. By the end of tonight he was probably going to be nursing a broken heart and be back to not being able to be around Enjolras without it hurting again. “Want the next question? If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30 year old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?” 

“Well, obviously the mind. I can dictate speeches and inspire action from my sickbed but to not be able to think…” 

“Don’t you think that’d be hell, though. To be still you in your mind. The same in every way. But trapped in your own body?” 

“Maybe…” Enjolras said. He was frowning now and Grantaire wished he hadn’t spoken. He’d been doing so well at winning smiles. “I think that, possibly, we’re being too morbid about this, though. I mean, a 90 year old body isn’t a 30 year old body but it’s not guaranteed to be unusable.” 

“I guess,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “And, well, if I could only have one I guess I’d choose the mind, too. Or...I don’t know. I don’t think my mind’s up to much anyway. I don’t know how I’d cope if I couldn’t fight or run or something.” 

“I didn’t know you were so physical.” 

“I’m, well, I don’t know if physical’s the word for it. I like pushing my body to that point where you don’t think any more. Where it’s all instinct. It’s about the only time my brain shuts up.” 

“And you want your brain to shut up?” 

“When all it’s doing is playing a loop of all the things I’ve ever gotten wrong then, yeah, I want it to shut up.” 

“Does...does that happen a lot?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire dared another glance at him. He was looking confused. Maybe a little angry. Had Grantaire really never talked to him about any of this before? He’d discussed it with the others. But then, Enjolras could be so neurotypical. He wasn’t exactly the first person Grantaire would pick who might understand the den of weasels that was his brain. 

“Not as much as it used to. I have my exercise and I have pills and I had a therapist for a bit. It’s not perfect but I’m better than I was.” 

“I noticed you were less...well, more here? Not less, more. More you. Than you were when I first met you. I didn’t know about any of that, though.” 

“I was a mess,” Grantaire agreed. “I am a mess. Not being in love with me is probably a good thing for you.” 

“But I’m here anyway. So, come on. Next question.” 

Grantaire tried to press down the hope butterfly but it came up and fluttered against his heart anyway. Even if this didn’t work, the idea of loving Grantaire didn’t disgust Enjolras. He’d presumed it would but it didn’t. 

He was in so much trouble. 

“Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?” 

“Bloodily in a glorious revolution?” 

“And I’ll be right there beside you,” Grantaire said before he could stop himself. Enjolras chucked, the hand that was still oh so casually rested on Grantaire’s arm squeezing again. 

“You’d die for a cause you don’t believe in?” 

“You’re a cause I believe in.” It sounded more sincere coming from his mouth than it had in his head. And it wasn’t anything he hadn’t said in meetings before but the way it softened Enjolras’s gaze seemed, somehow, to give it more weight in the here and now. 

“Seriously, though, I don’t know. I’d like to die in bed at 90, surrounded by those I love, and have a funeral where they talk at length about how I revolutionised the world. I suspect that’s not for me though.” 

“Live fast, die young?” 

“Leave a beautiful corpse.” 

“Well, that rules me out,” Grantaire said with a laugh. When he looked up Enjolras was frowning again so Grantaire rushed on before he could say anything. “I guess I always thought I’d be dead by 30. The drinking, the depression. I like to think I’d make it to 40 now.” 

“You’ll make it beyond 40.” 

“Is that an order?” 

“Would it work if it was?” He was smiling again but there was still a tightness around the corner of his lips that Grantaire didn’t like. He opened his phone to move them on. 

“Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common. Oh, that’s not fair. I should have agreed to go first!”

Enjolras laughed. Soft and low. It made Grantaire want to lean into him. “We could trade. I do one, you do one, until we’ve both done three.” 

“I guess that’s fair.” 

“Okay,” Enjolras said, turning a little so they were facing each other. Grantaire looked down quickly. He wouldn’t be able to do this while looking into Enjolras’s eyes. “We both care a lot about our friends.” 

“We both love Paris.” 

“We both care about the fate of the world.” 

“We both have problems with our families.” 

“We both…” Enjolras was interrupted by the smashing of the bottle. They both jumped, Grantaire pulling back. He hadn’t realised that he’d leant in quite so close. 

The bottle lay next to them on the pavement. A wine bottle, smashed. Empty. Grantaire looked up to find that the drinkers from across the fountain had moved down and were glaring at them. He hadn’t noticed, too wrapped up in Enjolras. 

Enjolras stood. 

“What?” Grantaire said, but Enjolras was already striding away towards them. For a second, Grantaire considered running. Enjolras had a tendency to make a mess at times and, while Grantaire could handle himself in a fight, he didn’t want to right now. He had just declared that he’d die with Enjolras, though. 

He followed him. 

“Which one of you threw that?” Enjolras demanded. There were three of them. Your usual idiots. Out of them had a badge for the National Front on his jacket. 

“Fuck off,” the biggest one said, standing up. If he thought he was going to scare Enjolras away he was about to learn a thing. 

“No, I want to know what your problem is.” 

“You’re my problem,” the big one growled. The one next to him stood up too but he looked more nervous. Tugged at the back of his friend's hoodie and was ignored. 

“How could I be a problem to you. I was talking quietly with my friend.” 

“You were disgusting,” big one said. “Don’t you know you’re unnatural?” 

Great, homophobes. They had to be. This was Grantaire’s life and nothing could go right. Badge boy had stood up now and looked ready to wade on in, though the little one in the middle was still looking like he’d rather just walk away. 

Enjolras snorted. “That’s the best you’ve got? Come on, R. We don’t need to deal with these idiots.” 

Grantaire breathed a sigh of relief. Moved to follow Enjolras away, and Big stepped forward. 

Things moved a little more quickly after that. 

Big made a grab for Grantaire but Grantaire was faster, even when surprised. He dodged back and to the side, letting the idiot overbalance himself with his momentum and then pushing lightly at his back to topple him over. Big rolled over with a grunt and threw a punch which Grantaire ducked under. 

“Stop it, you fag,” Big growled, like that was going to have any kind of effect. He swung again and Grantaire side stepped it, just as Button came at him from the other side, ducking quickly out of the mess of limbs they made and coming to a stop at Enjolras’s side. 

Enjolras looked very impressed with him. He’d probably have been even more impressed if Grantaire had punched back. 

By now a worried crowd had started to gather. It would only be a matter of time before a police officer noticed and appeared. Better to get out while they could. 

Then Enjolras took his hand and his world short circuited. 

“We’ll be going now,” he said, casually. Then he pulled Grantaire away. Grantaire could only follow. Big and Buttons looked like they’d like to follow but the little one was in front of them, clearly trying to talk them down. It gave Enjolras and Grantaire a window to get out of the square and to the Rue St Denis. They got as far as the Boulevard de Sebastopol before Grantaire's brain would go further than the hand holding his. 

“So,” he said. His voice sounded more uncertain than he’d like. “Next question?” 

“Yes please,” Enjolras said, his smile like a shark. He didn’t let go of Grantaire’s hand and Grantaire wasn’t going to let go of his, so Grantaireused his free hand to fumble his phone free from the pocket he’d shoved it into and unlock it. 

“For what in your life do you feel most grateful?” 

“My friends,” Enjolras replied without hesitation. “I don’t know where I’d be without them.” 

“Same,” Grantaire said with a smile. Enjolras squeezed his hand. It was heaven. 

Enjolras turned into the Rue de la Reynie. “Come on,” he said, tugging at Grantaire's arm. “I left some graffiti down here.” Grantaire followed happily. It didn’t take him long to spot Enjolras’s contribution, the word ‘liberté’ stencilled on the floor. He pointed to it silently and Enjolras laughed, and then they were out in front of La Centre Pompidou. 

“How about the fountain round the side?” Enjolras asked, pulling him forward. Grantaire nodded. It wasn’t very private but it’d do. 

The fountain was full of mechanical things and surrounded by cafes so it was a bit of a tourist draw, but they found space on the silver bench around its edge. Grantaire had to let go of Enjolras’s hand to sit but Enjolras sat down so close beside him that their shoulders were brushing. It was a fair trade. 

“Okay, next question.” 

“If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?” 

Enjolras seemed to actually think on that one. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth. 

“I guess the most important thing would be if I’d been raised in an atmosphere where being yourself was more important than fitting in.” 

“You mean you weren’t?” Grantaire didn’t know the details of Enjolras’s past but he couldn’t imagine that someone like Enjolras could come from a repressed background. 

“I was mostly raised in a boarding school,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “My parents travelled a lot and Maman didn’t like me having a nanny. I think she liked to think she was the most important person in my life, though she didn’t actually want to be around me to make that bond.

“I was at school most of the time. I mean, I got a good education and enough independence to break away from my family, but all the time I had to pretend that I fit in. That I was happy to be a part of their system. I was regularly punished for how I dressed, how I spoke, the ideas I had. I wish, just once, someone had said to me that it was okay to be me.” 

“God, how are you not as much of a mess as I am?” 

Enjolras shrugged. “Probably luck and brain chemistry. Also, I met Combeferre when I was 13 so at least we had each other. Your turn.” 

“I wish my mum hadn’t expected me to have a relationship with my dad.” 

“I didn’t know you did? I thought you were raised by a single mother.” 

“I was.” Grantaire didn’t know how Enjolras had come by that information. It made him feel bad that he hadn’t known about Enjolras’s boarding school background. He’d known he met Combeferre in school but not that it was a boarding school. “My dad left when I was...maybe 3? And he didn’t want to come back and, well, if he’d come back when I was really little I’d have loved it. But he’s a piece of shit and didn’t want anything to do with either of us. 

“My mum used to phone him before my birthdays and other things and beg him to come and he’d say yes, probably just to get her off the phone. I used to hear her crying at him. And he never came. And she’d always be upset and angry at him. I wish...I wish she’d let him go. It’d have hurt like fuck but not as much as being betrayed by him over and over again.” 

“That sucks,” Enjolras said, leaning more into Grantaire's side. “I guess you were right, we do both have family troubles.” 

“I could write a book about mine,” Grantaire said with a laugh. “Come on, next question. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.” 

“Okay, four minutes. You know I come from money, yes? Papa and Maman are both lawyers. She’s from old money, he’s new money. I was never close with other of them. They’re both very conservative and obsessed with image so they consider me a stain on their reputation now. If anyone asks they just say I’m studying law - that’s the only thing I’ve ever done right in their eyes. 

“Went to boarding school. Met Combeferre. He was there on a scholarship, I don’t know if you know this story?” 

“I’ve heard it from Courfeyrac, but tell me your version.” 

“Well, it was just after Courfeyrac had started. We’re both from money, he’d been kicked out of his last school so he fit right in with Combeferre and I. To be honest, I think the only reason I wasn’t thrown out over the years was the generous donation above the tuition fee that Papa gave to the school. Combeferre was on a scholarship though. Some elitist crap about him having to go back to the inner city and inspire all the other poor immigrant kids to rise above their station or something. 

“Well, we organised a protest about the girls having to wear a skirt for their uniform.” 

“Courfeyrac didn’t share that detail. Let me guess, you all wore skirts.” 

“We did,” Enjolras agrees with a slightly embarrassed smile that made Grantaire's heart beat a little faster. “I think Combeferre still has a picture somewhere. Anyway, they couldn’t do a lot about me and Courfeyrac but they threw Combeferre out.

“We kicked up a protest. We were all ready to quit the school and go live in inner city Paris with Combeferre. Then my maternal grandfather died. 

“He was always a hateful old shit. Most of his money went to my mother and grandmother, but I got a not insubstantial amount. There was a caveat, though. I had to spend it on something selfish. I’d say it was meant to make it a gift but we’d argued the summer before about charity and I think he just wanted to be cruel. 

“Anyway, it blew up in his face. I used the money to pay for Combeferre’s tuition. It met the caveat as I was getting to be close to my friend but it was also a charitable way to use his money so fuck him.” 

“Pretty nice,” Grantaire said, smiling. He’d heard the outline of the story before, though it wasn’t something they talked about a lot. He also knew that Combeferre had offered to pay him back some day and Enjolras had flat out refused. It was a good story, though. Warm. 

“Your turn.” 

“Well, we weren’t rich, but we were comfortable. Maman worked in HR, made a decent amount of money. My dad sent her money and never saw me. I never managed to be what she wanted me to…” 

“Grantaire…” 

“Don’t interrupt. This is fact, she’d told me as much.” 

“Just because your mother’s said something doesn’t make it fact.” 

“But this time it does. I’m not saying her expectations of me were reasonable but I never met them. She wanted a son she could brag about, I was solidly average. After a while, I realised that any progress I did manage to make wasn’t going to be enough for her and I stopped trying. Which was probably a mistake but there it is. 

“I’m not sure how I got through education. The depression started in my mid teens, probably. I spent less and less time with Maman, who was trying desperately to spin this picture book life out of lies and exaggerations. I spent a lot of time smoking weed with Montparnasse, got involved in some petty crime. Met Eponine. She decided to come here to school and that I was going to follow her. 

“I owe her a fuck ton, because she got me out of my mum’s house. I’m not sure how much longer I could have lived there in her lies without cracking. We came to Paris, fell in with you guys. I got help. Things got better.” 

“I’m glad,” Enjolras said, leaning closer again. Now they were pressed together entirely from their shoulders down their arms. 

He was glad his phone was still in his hand so he didn’t have to move far to get the next question. 

“If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”

“I guess...I’ve always wanted to be able to play an instrument.” 

“Really? You know, that’s a pretty easy thing to do. I could teach you some time.” Though, of course, Enjolras probably wouldn’t want him to. 

“Oh, I’ve tried. Taking music lessons was compulsory at school. I’ve tried so many instruments but music and I just don’t get along. I just wish we did. I wish I could pick up an instrument, like you do, and make something beautiful come out of it.” 

“My music isn’t beautiful,” Grantaire, said, blushing. Of course, Enjolras had never listened to it so he wouldn’t know. “I guess, for me, it’d be languages.” 

“I thought you spoke English?” 

“I do, after much practice and hard work. But that’s it. I don’t want two languages, I want ten languages. I want to be the person who can learn a language a month, like Marius can. But my brain’s no good for it.” 

“Like my brain’s no good for music.” 

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, leaning a little more into Enjolras’s side. “Like that. So, if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?” 

“Anything. Like, I could ask it how to achieve world peace and it’d tell me?” 

“I think that’s what the question’s implying,” Grantaire shrugged. 

“Well, I’d have to ask about world peace then. It seems ridiculous not to.” 

“I can tell you how to achieve world peace. You kill everyone. Humans weren't made for peace.” 

“Very pessimistic,” Enjolras said, though he didn’t sound as cross about it as he usually did. “So what would you ask? Given the peace is impossible.” 

“Well, I can hardly ask for something selfish with your answer hanging over me, can I,” Grantaire said. He knew his tone was a little sharp but he was smiling and Enjolras must have noticed because he leant closer into Grantaire, and Grantaire could feel him chuckle through the places where their arms connected. 

It was weird and wonderful and too much for him. 

“I’d ask it if I’m ever going to be truly happy,” He blurted, flushing. “I...I mean, not that I’m not happy but…” 

“No, I get it. It’s okay, you don’t need to explain.” 

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, relieved. He unlocked his phone again. “Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”

“You mean why haven’t I overthrown the government yet? It’s harder than you’d think.” Enjolras laughed softly at his own joke and Grantaire turned to look at him. He was so close. Grantaire didn’t think they’d ever been this close before, physically. He could have just leant in just a little and…

“I’d kiss you.” 

Enjolras fell still, his eyes seeming to move to Grantaire’s mouth on their own accord. 

“I...I haven’t because I know you don’t want that and I respect you. But I think about it. Dream about it.” 

“Oh,” Enjolras said. His lips formed the word perfectly and Grantaire would have really leant in and kissed him then if he’d been just a little bit braver. But his phone was a steady weight in his hand reminding him how artificial this was. Enjolras was his friend and nothing more and tomorrow that would still be true, whatever they said now. 

Suddenly the closeness was suffocating. Grantaire pushed to his feet. 

“Come on, it’s too noisy here. Let’s find somewhere else.” 

Enjolras paused for a second before standing to join him. He didn’t take Grantaire’s hand this time as he had done last time, but that was probably for the best. It was important for one of them to be sensible. 

They wove through tourists to the Rue de Renard before the silence started to feel oppressive and Grantaire took out his phone, desperate for the next question. 

“What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?”

“Well, these questions don’t mess around, do they?” Enjolras said with a forced laugh. “I guess...Do you remember last year? The protests where we marched up the Avenue De L’Opera?” 

“You got arrested, right.” 

“Well, yes,” Enjolras said, ducking his head and smiling. Grantaire felt his heart swell at the sight. "But before that. All those people, marching together and demanding change. And maybe we didn’t cause a big political swing, but each of those people there had been affected in some way by us. And there were people who saw us march and maybe some of them were affected…” 

“It was pretty impressive,” Grantaire admitted. He personally wasn’t sure it’d had any impact at all, but if it made Enjolras so proud he couldn’t be entirely against it. 

“So, what’s yours?” 

Grantaire opened his mouth and his mind promptly went blank. He realised that he had nothing to say. Not even an inkling of where to start. 

His greatest accomplishment. 

He’d won trophies and stuff in school. Never anything worthwhile but a trophy for turning up. Then he’d started getting stoned and not turning up. He’d barely scraped by in his art degree and now he split his time between working in a coffee shop and producing pieces of art that he had to beg people to display and which hardly ever sold. 

He wanted to laugh. To deflect. But Enjolras was looking at him with a tightness to his eyes that Grantaire knew wasn’t going to be easily avoided. 

Greatest accomplishment. 

Then it hit him. 

“You remember when Feuilly had that really bad flu?” 

Enjolras frowned. “I guess? A few years ago?” 

“Yeah. Well, when he was ill, I took care of things. You know he has his own business? He can’t really afford to be closed, it was the tourist season too. So I took time from work and went and opened the shop for him.” 

“I didn’t know you did that.” 

“Well, I didn’t exactly make a big deal out of it. I was just being a decent human being, if I hadn’t then someone else would. But, yeah, that’s what I’m proud of.” 

Enjolras smiled, turning it on Grantaire and making his blush. Somehow their shoulders brushed together again and Grantaire wasn’t sure when they’d got that close. 

He looked away, desperately searching for someone else to look at. His eyes landed on the florists. He let his lip turn up a little. He looked back to find Enjolras watching him with a raised eyebrow. 

“What?” 

“You’re smiling at a florist. Why?” 

“It’s nothing. I just...I like flowers.” 

“Seriously? I thought you’d hate them or only like them in an ironic way or something?”

Grantaire snorted. “No, I...it’s kind of weird so I don’t really talk about it.” 

“I’m kind of weird. Come on, tell me about flowers.” 

“They’re just...they’re so beautiful and they just happen like that. They don’t have to work at it or try. And they’re so complex. Do you know that some flowers had colours on their petals that we can’t even see? They’re in the ultraviolet spectrum. The birds and bees who come to them can see these other colours. There’s a whole other world inside them.” 

“But you don’t draw flowers?” 

“I do. Just not in a form you’d recognise,” Grantaire said, grinning at Enjolras. “I liked that year I lived with Marius. He’s always buying Cosette flowers. He’d get them the night before and keep them in the flat and I’d stare at them then draw them as ideas and feelings and swirls of colour. I miss that.” 

“You could just buy flowers for yourself.” 

“Not the same,” Grantaire said, bumping his shoulder against Enjolras’s. “The act of giving flowers gives them a weight, a meaning. God, I’d love someone to buy me flowers.” 

“You mean nobody ever has?” 

“Seriously? Who do you think’d be going around buying me flowers?” 

They were at the Hotel de Ville now and Grantaire had expected Enjolras to stop at the benches there, but he kept on walking. It was probably for the best, it was still loud here. 

“I know it isn’t in the questions but...relationship history?” 

Grantaire was a little surprised by the question. “I don’t...it’s not exactly illustrious.” 

“I’m not asking to be impressed.” Grantaire dared to glance at Enjolras, at the gentle curve of the smile on his face. “I’d just like to know.” 

“Well, it’s a bit...I lost my virginity when I was 16 with Eponine. We were both bad at other people and thought we could be bad at other people together but it quickly turned out to be a bad idea. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I adore ‘Ponine as the goddess she is. We just make a terrible couple. There was that guy in my first year in Paris, Jean. And Michael, you met him. And there was a girl called Cecile for a while but she was far too good for me. And then, well, I hook up sometimes, but nothing serious.” 

“You’ve never had an adult relationship?” 

“Oh, like you have.” 

It was Enjolras’s turn to blush and look a little displeased. “Well, not adult, no. I dated a girl in boarding school. Her name was Marie and her father was a lawyer. It was a little serious for a while. We visited each other in the holidays. But ultimately she wanted to be a middle class cog in the system and I wanted revolution, so it wasn’t meant to be.” 

“How romantic.” 

“And, yeah, that’s about it. “I haven’t really been with anyone else. I’ve kissed a few people in bars but…” 

“Kissed. You mean you don’t, like, take people home.” 

“No,” Enjolras was blushing, stepping away a little. Grantaire followed him, pressing their sides together. He needed Enjolras to know he wasn’t judging. “Courfeyrac says I’m demi-sexual. I do want sex but...not with just anyone, you know. I have to be attracted to a person before I want to have sex with them.” 

“And were you attracted to Marie.” 

“Yes. Or I thought I was. We were teenagers together, we did things our parents wouldn’t like. I think that was my appeal to her, I had something of the bad boy to me. Or as much as a person can when they’re in a boarding school, anyway. Can we move on to the next question?” 

Grantaire opened his phone quickly. He didn’t like seeing Enjolras uncomfortable, it seemed unnatural somehow. “What do you value most in a friendship?” 

“Loyalty. I need to be able to trust my friends. I mean, I don’t have to agree with them. You’re not the only friend I argue with, but I need to know that when it comes down to it, we have each other’s backs.” 

“Bad luck for me, being a coward then.” 

“You’re not,” Enjolras said, and the strength in that proclamation was almost enough to make Grantaire wince. “You’re one of the most loyal people in our group.” 

“Loyal to you, maybe. Not to an ideal or anything like that.” 

“Yes, I’ll grant you that. But I happen to value loyalty to me very highly. Come on, what do you value in a friend?” 

“Support,” Grantaire said, the answer there right away. “Someone to hold me up and hold me together. There’s what I need in a friend.” 

He was saved from elaborating by their arrival at the road. They crossed and walked into the Pont d’Arcole, where Enjolras headed for the first bench and sat down. 

“You want to stop here?” 

“There are no tourists. Come and sit with me.” 

Grantaire did, slowly. The amount of traffic going past was intrusive but Enjolras was right, fewer passing tourists who might overhear them talking. He swung round on the bench to sit cross-legged, facing Enjolras, and Enjolras mirrored him. There was no choice but to look in each other’s eyes now. He’d miscalculated somehow. 

To hide his nerves he took out his phone again. “What is your most treasured memory?” 

“I guess,” Enjolras said, leaning in a little. Grantaire couldn’t help but mirror him. “I’d be when I first met Courfeyrac. I mean, it’s almost such a small memory. I was in English class, doodling in the margins, and the teacher was droning on about some gender essentialist garbage reading of some text and he called out my doodling so I called out his bullshit.” 

“I guess that was nothing unusual for you,” Grantaire said with a smile. He couldn’t have imagined himself calling anyone out at that age. He’d have been hidden in the back corner of the class with his nose in a book hoping nobody looked at him. 

“Well, no. And before it had always been me against the system but this one time, while the teacher was shouting at me, this other kid stood up and took my side. I’d never had anyone stand up and take my side before. That’s probably my most treasured memory.” 

“The first time you were understood?” 

“The first time I realised I wasn’t alone. Come on, what about you?” 

Grantaire thought about telling Enjolras about the first time they met. How it’d been love at first sight. But it hadn’t been love at first sight, not really. It had been lust. Grantaire hadn’t fallen in love until he realised the strength that was hidden in Enjolras. How he had this amazing power to bend but never break. Never even splinter. 

How could Grantaire, who was held together with twine and determination on his good days, not love someone so solid? 

There was no one big moment when he’d fallen in love. He’d fallen in love with Enjolras a million times in a million different ways. He wasn’t sure how to stop falling in love with Enjolras. 

Which left only one thing. 

“So, in my misspent youth, I painted my mother a picture. This was after I’d started going bad. After she’d stopped looking at me like someone it might be worth knowing. By then I was just a shadow in her house. 

“I don’t even know why I gave her the picture. I normally only drew dark things. I was the kid who doodled swirling masses of black and eyes and teeth in the margins of my notebooks. But this one time in art class the teacher challenged me to paint something beautiful. It was the way they said it, like they didn’t believe I could. So I did. I painted a meadow. Real classical style with rolling hills and clutches of wild flowers and a little dog frollicking. All that cliched crap. 

“Anyway, when it was done I didn’t know what to do with it. It was going to trash it but for some reason I took it home and gave it to my mum. She was so proud, Enjolras. It just lit up her entire face. She looked at me for the first time in years like I might have value. Like she might love me. 

“Of course, I went out the night after and got high and the look went but, for that moment, my mum loved me.” 

Grantaire felt a hand on his. Looked down, to see Enjolras tangling their fingers together. He squeezed, reached his other hand up to wipe at his eyes, where treacherous teardrops were escaping. He didn’t like to think about that painting but…

“Will you paint something for me, some time?” 

“Enjolras, I’ve painted a hundred things for you.” 

“No, not something inspired by me,” Enjolras said, waving his free hand. “But something for me. Something I can keep.” 

“My art isn’t that special.” 

“It is,” Enjolras insisted. Grantaire knew that Enjolras knew nothing about art so he tried to stop his heart swelling at that, but he wasn’t very successful. Instead he just nodded and turned back to the phone. 

“What is your most terrible memory?” 

“Wow, this really isn’t pulling any punches, is it?” 

“It doesn’t seem to be,” Grantaire said. He squeezed Enjolras’s hand where it still held his. A gentle reminder of the connection between them. Enjolras didn’t withdraw as Grantaire had half expected him to. 

“So, most terrible memory. I mentioned that my mum’s a control freak, right? That she didn’t want me to love anyone else more than her.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, when I was really little I had this nanny. She was...well, I honestly can’t remember much now. Just kindness and warmth and the idea of someone always being there for me to run to. She raised me, essentially. Maman would come in for half an hour every few days to see me but the nanny raised me.

“This was fine until, well, I must have been about eight. Maman decided to go to the park with us. It was all very genteel and she sat on a bench and looked impassive while we played, but then I messed up, I called the nanny Maman. 

“Of course, mother sent her away. 

“At the time I didn’t understand it. I knew that she cried a lot when she had to leave. She told me that she loved me but she left and didn’t come back. I used to cry at night, waiting for her to come tuck me in, then I was sent away to school. I didn’t understand until years later that I’d caused it. That, by calling her Maman, I’d threatened my own bitch of a mother, so she’d have to go.” 

Grantaire squeezed his hand again. He looked almost close to tears. He’d have figured it’d be a protest gone wrong or one of the many times Enjolras had been arrested but, then, there was no pain quite like a childhood pain. Especially a pain as big as that. 

“My worst memory is probably the time I nearly killed someone.” 

“What?” 

“Have you not heard this story? It was before I came to Paris. I was a mess. I didn’t sleep. I drank. I took anyone anyone gave me. I’d get out of bed in the morning, put on makeup to hide that I hadn’t slept and get high to survive the day. 

“Anyway, my mum decided I should learn to drive. I hid from her how bad the smoking and the drinking were, I don’t think she got it. Or she didn’t want to see. 

“Anyway, as you can imagine, me in that state in a car was a bad idea. She decided to teach me herself, which was the problem. No serious driving teacher would have let me behind the wheel of a car. But she did. And we were doing okay. I mean, as things went between me and her. It was a lot of her criticising and me making slow progress while trying desperately to please. 

“But then this one time she dragged me out driving when I wasn’t expecting it. I hadn’t had a chance to take anything to keep me alert. She was yelling at me about something. I was yelling back at her and, long story short, a kid ran in front of my car and I didn’t see.” 

“Holy shit,” Enjolras blurted. His eyes had gone wide.” 

“Yep. The good thing was my mum saw and dived across to shove my foot on the brake. So no harm done. But I hadn’t seen. I wouldn’t have seen. She stopped asking me to drive with her after that.” 

“That’s a pretty big deal,” Enjolras admitted. 

“Yeah. I still have nightmares sometimes that we didn’t stop. I’ve self-destructed plenty since then but I always try to keep the hurt to myself now.” 

“You are aware that you self-destructing hurts all your friends, right?” 

“Yeah. That’s why I stopped.” 

“Good,” Enjolras said. He lifted his free hand to gently brush against Grantaire’s curls and the move was so tender, Graintaire was almost shocked by it. He closed his eyes for a second to enjoy the feel of Enjolras so close to him. 

Even when this all fell apart, he’d have these moments to remember. 

“Come on,” he said, sliding his eyes open. “Next question. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?”

“That is a heavy question. I guess I’d spend more time with the people around me. Make sure each of them knew how special and valuable they were to me. I don’t think some of you appreciate that sometimes. I know I’m not good at showing it. That’s what I’d want. To make sure that when I went, you’d all know I cared about you.” 

“Good answer. I think I’d quit my stupid coffee shop job and travel. There’s so much I haven’t seen…” 

“Where’s the first place you’d go?” 

Grantaire thought for a second. A million destinations swam in his head. Places he’d thought about but never seriously thought he might visit. 

“I’d like to go to India. Just, somewhere completely different to start with. And everything is so loud and vibrant there, I think.” 

“I’ve never been,” Enjolras said, leaning in a little more. Their foreheads were almost touching. “Maybe, one day, we can go together.” 

Grantaire was trying to get his head around that statement when they were interrupted. A band of tourists came spilling along the pavement, all loud American voices and intrusion. Enjolras drew back, and Grantaire could have wept. 

“We need somewhere quieter.” 

Grantaire glanced around, then the perfect solution came to him. “Follow me.” 

He stood up, carefully keeping their hands linked, and led Enjolras across the bridge. They came past Notre Dame and this time Grantairehad no desire to watch tourists, he only had eyes for Enjolras. On the other side of the Seine, there were steps down to the side of the river. He led Enjolras down some now, into the dark and quiet. There were some other people about, but they all seemed far away, and as Grantaire led Enjolras back under the bridge, they might have been the only people in the world. 

Grantaire sat, folded his legs. Enjolras watched for a second before suddenly laying down, sprawling across the tarmac and putting his head into Grantaire’s lap. 

Grantaire hardly dared to breath. 

“Come on,” Enjolras said, smiling up at him. “Next question.” 

Grantaire fumbled his phone open, almost dropping it in his haste to comply. “What does friendship mean to you?”

“Easy,” Enjolras said. Grantaire had never seen his smile from this angle before. It was beautiful. “Friendship is companionship. It’s someone who cares for you. Who believes in you.” 

“Like a family?” 

“Better than a family. Family are a group who have to accept you because you happen to be related to them by blood. You might have nothing else in common with them, I don’t with mine. Friends, though, they’re a family of choice. The people you want in your life, not the people you’re forced to have.” 

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, smiling softly. “Though if we’re some kind of band of brothers, I have to point out that we’re a little incestuous.” 

“We can be, yeah,” Enjolras said with a smile. He must know full well, as Grantaire did, that the only ones of them who’d had a successful relationship outside of the group were Bossuet and Joly who’d found Musichetta all on their own. And they’d eventually dragged her in too. 

What did they say for his chances of finding a love other than Enjolras. Maybe he was doomed and should just give up now. 

Better not to think like that. He opened his phone again. 

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?”

Enjolras shifted a little, his brow wrinkling as he thought. Grantaire had to resist the urge to reach down and play with his hair. After a few moments of silence he gave up on the resisting. Enjolras could move if he didn’t like it. Nobody was making him lie in Grantaire’s lap. 

He lost himself in the soft texture until Enjolras spoke again. 

“I guess, if I’m honest, a small role. I love my friends, I care for them, but I’m not driven by a desire to start a family or anything like that. And if it meant making the world a more just and fair place, I’d sacrifice almost anything.” 

Grantaire had known that, it still hurt a little to hear it spoken. That there was no room for him in Enjolras’s life. 

“But, now I think, I wonder if I’m not limiting myself. I get lonely sometimes, R. I have this tendency to set myself apart and it’s fine, it is, but sometimes I get so lonely. So…maybe those things don’t really play a role in my life now, but maybe they should. How about you?” 

“I..” Grantaire started, then trailed off. It wasn’t going to be possible to answer this question without talking about his love for Enjolras. But Enjolras had been open with him. It wouldn’t be fair to lie. He did close his eyes, though, before he began to talk. 

“I love you. I...I know I normally only talk about it when I’m drunk but...I’ve tried so many times over the years to convince myself that it was just a fad, just hero worship, just anything. But it’s not.” 

“Grantaire.” 

“Please let me finish. My love is a big part of me. It helps my art. It helps my music. I don’t want a family, I don’t care about children, but I don’t know how to not love. I crave affection. God, it’s probably a good job you don’t love me back. You’d get bored of my clinging to you all the time.” 

Enjolras sat up and for a second Grantaire felt tears prick his eyes. He’d done it. He’d said something bad enough to make Enjolras leave, but then warm arms were around him and he was being pulled forward into an embrace. 

Enjolras didn’t say anything, just held on, and Grantaire held on too, digging his fingers into the back of Enjolras’s shirt and trying not to cry. 

He would not cry now. 

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, strangely silent and together, but when he tried to draw back Enjolras wouldn’t let him go. Instead he turned his head to see his phone and read the next question. “Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.”

Enjolras drew back a little so they could look each other in the eye, letting his arms drop to Grantaire’s legs. Grantaire tried not to feel the loss of the embrace too keenly. 

“You are an amazing friend.” 

“Enjolras…” 

“Ask any of the others and they’ll agree. We all know you’ll do everything you can for us. Your turn.” 

“You’re like a pillar of strength.” 

“You see things in ways I can’t even imagine. You’re so creative.” 

“That was two.” 

“The second one was a sub-clause. Go on.” 

“You’re loyal.” 

“You’re kind.” 

“You’re a leader.” 

“You’re a survivor.” 

“You’re inspirational.” 

“You’re beautiful.” 

“Look,” Grantaire said, flushing. “If you’ve run out just don’t say anything. Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not,” Enjolras said, that impossibly sweet smile curving his lips again. “You’re beautiful. I could have picked a million other things to say about your character but, from some of the other things you’ve said, I don’t think many people have ever told you that you’re beautiful before. So I will now. You’re beautiful. Come on, last one.” 

“You’re just...you’re so fucking sincere in everything you do. How are you even real?” 

“I don’t know,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire looked up to see his cheeky smile. “Maybe we’re just both great.” 

Grantaire looked away again, quickly. As he opened his phone, Enjolras reached over and took his free hand again. It wasn’t as good as the hug but it was pretty marvelous.

“How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”

“I feel like we’ve covered this one,” Enjolras said, Grantaire was so close he could almost feel the words on his cheek. 

“Yeah. Let’s move on. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?” 

“Well, I haven’t spoken to her in about 8 months now so I’d say it’s the best that it’s ever been. We do a lot better when we don’t have to actually speak to each other. Is yours better now you don’t see each other as much?” 

“She calls once a month or so. Tells me what’s going on with her. Extracts a few details from me she can twist into something to share with her friends over coffee. It’s...it’s okay. I don’t want her out of my life and this is definitely better than having to share a house with her.” 

“I get that,” Enjolras said, softly. Grantaire had never heard Enjolras speak so softly for so long. He was captivated. 

Grantaire opened his phone. “Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling ... ””

“We are both under a bridge, feeling closer to each other.” 

Grantaire laughed a little. It was true but it somehow felt like an absurd thing to say at the same time. 

“We are both learning new things about each other.” 

“We are both sharing painful memories and we know it’s going to be okay,” Enjolras said. Grantaire closed his eyes and nodded. That was very true. 

“We both agreed to open ourselves up to doing this together tonight, for whatever reason.” 

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, his smile almost crooked in the half light under the bridge. “Neither of us regret it?” 

Grantaire smiled and shook his head. He wasn’t sure it’d been the right decision, still, but he could never regret this. If these stolen moment of closeness, these almost kisses, this hug, were all he had to carry him through the rest of his life, then that would be okay. 

“We’re both glad we’re here.” A repetition, maybe, but it made Enjolras smile. Grantaire didn’t want to lean far enough away to get his phone, to look for the next question, but he did it anyway. “Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share ... ””

“My dreams.” 

“Everything.” 

They were pressed so close together now, Grantaire almost wasn’t sure where he ended and Enjolras began. The smallest movement and his lips would have met flesh. But he couldn’t. This was lovely but it was false, too. Comfort, familiarity, not love. He turned and opened the phone again. “If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.”

“I work too much. I’m bad at giving and, isn’t the correct term emotional labour? It doesn’t mean I don’t care, I just get caught up in things. It’d be okay to disturb me. To drag me out of it. It’d be good. What about you?” 

Grantaire swallowed. Tried not to imagine himself being the one to drag Enjolras out of work now and then. To be the one to lure him away for his own good. Not that it’d work. He’d probably think he was being ignored. Presume he was being a bother. But now he’d been given permission. Now …maybe…

“I overthink everything. And I second guess most things. I...I’m kind of getting better and having friends helps but sometimes it’s hard to see why people bother with me.” 

“Grantaire…” 

“I know my self-image’s fucked up, I had a therapist. But sometimes it’s still hard to convince myself everyone doesn’t hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you.” 

“Not right now,” Grantaire shrugged. “But in the larger sense.” 

“I’ve never hated you. I’ve thought you were a pain at times but there’s a world of difference between thinking someone’s a pain and hating them.” 

“Enjolras…” 

So close. If he leant forward just a little... 

There was a loud whoop from above them. They both pulled back instinctively, looked up to see a group of guys gawking at them from the wall above. Enjolras frowned and the damn moment was gone, again. Grantaire couldn’t believe he’d let himself get so close twice. 

Enjolras stood up, brushing himself off, and Grantaire had no choice but to follow. The crowd at the wall were already moving on, but this place felt wrong now. 

“We need to be somewhere private. Somewhere of our own. I’d take you to mine but Combeferre’ll be in…” 

“You can come with me,” Grantaire said, picking the thread up easily enough. “It’s not much but it’s all my own.” 

“Good,” Enjolras said, and there was that damn grin again. He reached out to lace their fingers together, pulling Grantaire closer, and Grantaire couldn’t help but obey. 

“I’m line 4. We can get on at St Michael Notre Dame.” 

Enjolras nodded and, like that, Grantaire was being led through the streets again. Enjolras’s hand was firm in his. Stable. Close. It hadn’t been like this before. There was nothing hesitant or uncertain about this grip. 

“So, flowers. Which are your favourites?” 

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said, dragging his toes. “I don’t think I even look at the type. I like colour. And the feel of them. You know, the way the petals spiral and the pattern to them.” 

“Such an artist,” Enjolras said, but it was affectionate. “Want to do another question while we walk?” 

“Sure. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.” 

“I like how creative you are. I like how much you give yourself over to others and how much you value your friends. I like how much you care about people. I like your smile, when you smile. Not the big crowd pleasing smile when you’re drunk and you think you’re being witty, but the little smile you keep doing tonight for me. Yes, that one.” 

Grantaire ducked his head, tried to hide the smile he couldn’t help. The smile Enjolras liked. God, he was so gone. 

“I like that you’re up front about what you believe in. Any other person might have played along to impress me but you never did. I like that you’re loyal. I know I can trust you. I like the way your hair curls around your ears. Do you want me to go on?” 

“God no,” Grantaire said, maybe a little too quickly. “It’s all...it’s a bit much, Enjolras.” 

“Don’t worry,” Enjolras said, leaning into Grantaire’s side. “You’ll get used to it. Now, your turn.” 

“I can’t.” 

“This should be easy for you. You keep saying you’ve been in love with me for ages.” 

“But just talking about it while we walk down the street.” 

“There’s nobody here, just me. Tell me, please.” 

It was the please that did it. Nobody could have resisted the please. “I like that you’re unafraid to stand up for what you believe in and willing to accept the consequences of believing it. You don’t run and hide when things get tough. I like the absolute strength of your convictions. I like the way you make time for everyone in the group, even though you say you’re not good at people. We all know we can go to you and you’ll do your best to fix whatever’s wrong. I like you. I like that you look like an angel and paint street graffiti. I like that you’re so damn charming but you can also be forceful and uncompromising. I just...like you.” 

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, and it sounded sincere but Grantaire didn’t dare to meet his eye. He focused instead on their joined hands and close arms. Kept his eyes on them as they descended to the metro and found the station. Once they were there, he found Enjolras backing him into a corner again. 

“Another question before the train comes?” 

Grantaire glanced around. There were a few other people on the platform but they were all a way away and had books or music. He took his phone out. “Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life. Seriously? You’ve probably seen most of my embarrassing moments.”

“Well, you can think of another while I go first. I guess I don’t embarrass easily. I tend to laugh things off...though I seem to be doing a lot of blushing tonight. I think that’s more fear. Sharing so much of yourself is scary.” 

“Damn right it is.” 

“I guess my most embarrassing incident would be the time I deliberately tried to upset my mother. I mean, the first time. I was...maybe thirteen. Home for the summer. Summers at home were always the worst and she was holding this big, swanky party with almost a thousand guests and hadn’t had any time for me, and I wanted to get back at her.” 

“Go on,” Grantaire said, delighting in the way Enjolras had started to blush. 

“Well, I thought it’d create a stir if I went to the party in a dress. I’d been learning a lot of gender theory that year and I figured being transgressive would piss her off.” 

“Seems like solid theory.” 

“I thought it was. I went out in secret and got a dress, a wig, makeup. The problem was, well, a thirteen year old boy doesn’t look that different from a 13 year old girl.” 

“Nobody noticed?” 

“Nope. I stomped around the entire evening fending off adults asking who my parents were and teenage boys trying to grope me.” 

Grantaire stifled a laugh in Enjolras’s collar. He could just imagine how indignant he’d be that he’d tried to break their little minds and not done a damn thing. 

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Enjolras said, but there was a pleased tone to his voice. As though he was glad he’d made Grantaire laugh. “I learnt some valuable lessons about the gender binary and how, to be truly transgressive, it’s not enough to imitate the gender you aren’t but to forge a new path. I also got told off many years later by Jehan about appropriating other people’s gender expression for me own ends. Though I was thirteen at the time. All thirteen year olds are idiots.” 

“Yeah,” Grantaire said. Then the metro car was pulling in. Grantaire let Enjolras guide him into the back carriage. It was almost deserted, and Enjolras put them in the back corner, Grantaire up against the window, Enjolras bracketing him in. Pushed together all down their sides. 

“So, my turn.” 

“Next question, I think,” Enjolras said, his eyes on the adverts above their heads. 

“Enjolras…” 

“We got interrupted so, next question. Okay?” It was more than okay, he had to know that. With everything Grantaire had laid on the line tonight, he wasn’t sure he’d cope if Enjolras laughed at him. Instead he treasured this out for the precious thing it was and opened his phone. 

“When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?”

“I presume it doesn’t mean tonight.” 

“Yeah, I’d think so.” 

“Well...okay, this is probably embarrassing too. I’m not sure but I think the last time I cried in front of people was at our last film night. Remember. The bit where the dog died?” 

“That’s not embarrassing. That’s probably my last time crying in public too. I think we all cried.” 

“It’s sentimental.” 

“You’re allowed to be sentimental sometimes, Enjolras. You can’t always be made of marble.” 

“Maybe. Alone is harder. It was probably from frustration. A few weeks ago I had a million deadlines for Les Amis and school and my dad was pestering me about an internship with one of his rich friends again and I probably had a cry about that.” 

“Does your dad pester you a lot?” 

“Yeah. I don’t normally take it to heart. In a weird, invasive, non-respectful way, he’s trying to show that he cares. How about you?” 

“Probably last Saturday.” 

“When we went to the Corinth? You seemed happy.” 

“I do when I’m drunk in a crowd. So long as I’m talking and laughing. Then I get home and suddenly there’s nobody to talk to and nobody to make laugh and it’s like it all falls away and I end up crying instead.” 

“Why do you live alone if you get so down?” 

“Don’t want to bother other people. Besides, I like most things about living alone. Want the next question?” 

“Please.” 

“Tell your partner something that you like about them already.”

“Didn’t we just do this on the streets of Paris?” Enjolras laughed. It was like music, a symphony set amidst the creaks and groans of the train as it rattled along the track. Grantaire sighed. “How about, instead, I tell you something that I liked about you before we started?” 

“Okay,” Grantaire said, a little weary. 

“I liked that I could be quiet with you.” 

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on, Enjolras. I’m probably the noisiest one in the group.” 

“Yes,” Enjolras agreed. “But, just sometimes, I’d come into the Musain and you’d be reading or working and I could sit with you and you’d smile at me and I could take out my work and just be quiet with you. I like those times.” 

“I like that too.” He knew exactly what times Enjolras was talking about. They’d always felt like magical moments. Things stolen from a much harsher reality. In those quiet moments, it wasn’t always that he didn’t want to speak, most of the time it was that he didn’t dare. Like Enjolras was a wild creature he might scare away. 

He wondered if he’d be allowed to lay his head on Enjolras’s shoulder. He wondered if he dared try. 

He opened his phone instead. He read the next question to himself and paused, then turned the screen to Enjolras so he could see it himself. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about? It was a conversation they’d had before, many times. Often harshly. He thought there was a way to joke about anything as long as you were careful to make fun of the right people, Enjolras didn’t. 

Enjolras bit his lip now. Grantaire thought he was going to reply but instead he turned his head and pressed a kiss to Grantaire’s curls. It was so soft, so tender. Grantaire wanted to cry. 

And then the train was pulling into his stop and they were saved. 

They didn’t talk as they made their way out of the metro. Grantaire led Enjolras along to the boarding house he roomed in. Through the door, up the old creaky stairs with the bulb that didn’t work, and into his room. 

He didn’t turn the light on. It felt like it’d be an intrusion. 

The room was small. Sparse. There was a single bed with worn blankets. A chair he kept by the window for when he wanted to smoke. A small table, piled high with books and art supplies and a small microwave oven. His guitar on the floor next to it. 

All he owned in the world. Suddenly, having Enjolras here, it felt like very little. 

He’d left the window open, curtains back, and they crossed the room in the falling darkness. Enjolras leant out, looked up and down the street, then ducked back in and smiled at Grantaire. 

“It’s nice, I like it.” 

“You don’t have to lie. It’s a shit hole but what else can I afford in central Paris?” 

“No,” Enjolras insisted. “I like it. It’s got character, better than the white box that Combeferre and I live in. I don’t think my bedroom’s much bigger than this. Though it is closer to the centre.” 

“This is as close as I can afford,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “But it’ll do. Come sit with me?” 

Enjolras nodded. He moved away from the window to kick off his shoes. Grantaire stood for a second and contemplated the bed and the single chair. Surely it’d be rude to make his guest sit on the bed so he sat there. 

He couldn’t say he was entirely displeased when Enjolras ignored the chair and joined him on the bed. 

“How many more questions?” he asked.

“Just four. It was hardly worth you coming all the way out here.” 

“It was. What’s next, then?” 

“If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?” 

They both sat silently together for a second, pressed against each other on the narrow bed. It felt like a big thing to even contemplate. If they were to die this evening. What would be regret the most? 

He’d regret not having kissed Enjolras, but that wasn’t telling someone something. 

“I’d regret not telling you everything I have now years ago. We could…” 

“Hey, no,” Grantaire said. He dared to lean over and let his head drop onto Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras didn’t pull away. “Things happen when they happen. Don’t...don’t second guess this, please.” 

“Okay. Then, I guess I’d regret not telling Courfeyrac how much I value his friendship. I mean, I think he knows...but so often I think he feels like a third wheel. He was my friend first but when Combeferre turned up we clicked, and we work together in a way that neither of us does with Courfeyrac, but that’s what makes him so important to us. That he’s different. That he loves so freely where we don’t. That he cares so readily and thinks about people. Maybe I haven’t told him because I don’t want to know that he doesn’t already know. That he does feel left out.” 

“I’d thank Eponine for saving my life. If she hadn’t dragged me to Paris I’d be dead by now, I know I would.” 

“I should thank her too, then. For the chance to meet you.” 

“Yes, because I’m sure my sarcasm has enriched your life so much.” 

“Grantaire, you have made me a better debater and orator and outside of the fact that I care about you as a friend, I’d still be glad I met you.” 

Grantaire didn't have anything to say to that, so he just turned and buried his face in Enjolras’s shoulder. Apparently Enjolras had been watching, as he plucked the phone from Grantaire’s hands and must have put the code in, because a moment later he was reading the next question. 

“Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why? 

“I have a photo album, under my bed. It started out as a record of the works of the ABC, but it’s so much more. It’s like a scrap book. We’re all in there. Everything we’ve achieved. Big or small. I’d take that.” 

Grantaire glanced around the room. 

“I’d get the guitar. I can live without books but I can’t live without music. Music lifts the soul. And that’s the guitar I learnt on.” 

“Will you play for me?” 

“Not now. It’s late. Maybe tomorrow.” Grantaire was reminded of the perfect day he’d described earlier. A lie in. Some guitar. A walk through Paris. All their friends. Enjolras. 

What he wouldn’t give for that. 

“Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?”

“Of all my mother or my mother?” 

“Let’s take family of choice?” 

“No, let’s not. I can’t even think about you guys dying. I…no. It feels like tempting fate. And it’s cruel. I’d find all of your deaths disturbing. Whoever was gone, thinking of that empty chair at meetings. I couldn’t.” 

“No, you're right,” Enjolras sighed into his hair. “Though, for the record, I have a cousin I don’t hate. And I’d find the deaths of anyone younger than me highly disturbing. The young shouldn’t die.” 

“And you’re not young?” 

“I am. But I don’t plan to die any time soon. Shall we move on?” 

“Isn’t this the last question?” 

“Yes, it is,” Enjolras said. Somehow their hands found each other again. “Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen. Okay, if we’re going to do this one I need to see your face.”

Grantaire reluctantly removed himself from Enjolras’s shoulder. Turned around to face him so their knees were pressing together. Enjolras set down Grantaire’s phone and took both of his hands. 

“Okay. This is...there’s this person. I didn’t...I didn’t realise how important they were to me. Or, maybe I didn’t see them. But I think maybe I do now. And it’s wonderful. But it’s a little bit scary, because what if it isn’t real? But it feels so real, R.” 

Grantaire couldn’t breath. He really couldn’t because this couldn’t be what he thought it was. There was just no way this could be what he thought it was. He closed his eyes. Begged the world to start making sense. 

“I think...I think I want to try with this person. To try to be in their life more. To let them know how much I care. But if it’s a lie I might hurt them. What should I do, R?” 

“Try,” Grantaire said, before his brain could interfere. “Please, can we try.” 

And then Enjolras was kissing him. He opened his eyes to Enjolras impossibly close, to Enjolras real and there and kissing him. A soft, sweet kiss. An experiment and a confession and a promise. 

When he pulled back, he looked soft in a way he hadn’t before. Or maybe the tears in Grantaire’s eyes were clouding his judgement. 

“What about you, R? Do you have a problem?” 

“None at all.” 

Enjolras smiled and leant in to kiss him again. 

***

Grantaire woke alone. 

This, in itself, wasn’t uncommon. But after last night. After shared secrets and confessions and all the kisses they’d traded until sleep had weighed down on them. He shouldn’t be alone. 

Unless something was wrong. Unless it was all a horrible misunderstanding. Unless he’d dreamt it. 

He swung his legs out of bed. Enjolras could still be here. He could be in the bathroom. He might be back any second, thought even as Grantaire thought it, his heart cried out how impossible it was. 

His phone was still on the ground and he bent to pick it up. When he unlocked it the pink website was still open. THat hadn’t been a dream, at least. Maybe it’d all been real up to the kissed. Maybe the kisses had been real but, in the creeping light of day, Enjolras had realised who he fell asleep beside and run. Grantaire could hardly blame him. He was no catch. 

And Enjolras had been unsure. He’d said as much. Looked into Grantaire’s eyes and admitted he wasn’t sure about this. 

Grantaire shouldn’t have been surprised. 

He was alone again and that was fine. 

But, still, he had the memories. He’d always be able to remember what it was like to lay on his bed with Enjolras pressing soft kisses all over his face. He’d remember what it was like to have Enjolras look at him like he was the most important person in the world. The most interesting. 

He felt a tear prick at the corner of his eye and pushed it away. There was no need to cry. Of course it had to end like this. 

Then there were footsteps on the stairs. Probably a neighbour. Only they came closer. A key in the door and then Enjolras was suddenly there again, bustling into the room with full arms. 

“Oh,” he said when he saw Grantaire awake. He dropped the things he’d brought in and stepped over them to pull Grantaire into a kiss. 

Then Grantaire did start crying. The tears he’d barely been holding back breaking free to stream down his cheeks. 

“Grantaire?” 

“I thought you were gone. I thought you regretted it.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t...I didn’t think you’d think that, but now I see how you might. I’m sorry. I was just...let me show you.” 

He stood up, pulled away, though Grantaire was sad to let him go. The first thing he picked up was obvious enough and Grantaire flushed when the flowers were placed in his arms. 

“You didn’t need to…” 

“I know. But I wanted to. You wanted it and I wanted to give it to you and maybe, if you want, you could paint them. How they make you feel. You said you’d paint something for me.” 

Grantaire looked down at the flowers in his arms. Swirls of purples and oranges and whites. They were beautiful. Perfect. He buried his nose in them and breathed in the scent. Lovely. Yes, he’d paint them. He’d paint them a thousand times, though he wasn’t sure a colour or a brush stroke existed that expressed how happy he was right now. 

“I got some pastries, too,” Enjolras said, a little nervous, as though he wasn’t sure he should be doing this. “You mentioned the place across the street. And I cleared my calendar. I thought maybe you could too.” 

“You didn’t need to,” Grantaire said. He stood slowly, carrying the flowers to the window. He didn’t have a vase to put them in, he’d have to get one. Enjolras followed close behind him, leant into his space and pressed a gentle kiss on Grantaire’s neck. Just in the right place, like he somehow already knew. 

“I want to. I thought, maybe, we could spend the morning here. Eat our pastries. You could play the guitar for me. Then this afternoon we could walk the streets of Paris. You could show me all the things you get to see that I always miss because I’m too busy running around saving the world. Then I thought we might meet everyone at the musain for a few drinks, then come back here. Maybe pick up a change of clothes at mine along the way. How does that sound?” 

Grantaire set the flowers down. He turned and wrapped his arms around Enjolras’s neck, pulling him in tight. They stood there, pressed against each other in the warmth of the morning and Grantaire couldn’t help but kiss him. Couldn’t help but lose himself in those lips. 

He’d been wrong. You could make love. Or at least, maybe you could. For now. And what was there but now? 

And now, he had this. 

When they finally pulled back, Enjolras looked soft. A little surprised, by how much he was enjoying this or how much he wanted it. But happy. He reached up and traced a finger down the side of Grantaire’s face. Touched his too wide jaw, his splotchy skin, eyes glanced over his big nose. He didn’t seem to mind. 

Grantaire didn't mind. Not in that moment. 

This was more that he’d ever dreamt he’d have. He was going to enjoy every second of it. 

“It sounds perfect.”


End file.
